_Théophraste and His Black Plume_
|FOR the next few days M. Lecamus and M.
Longuet occupied themselves with evidence of this phenomenon, and were
often seen together, conversing mysteriously, in the bar-rooms and about
town, about the treason of the first of April. They left the Villa
Flots d’Azure to return to Paris, with the intention of searching the
libraries. They worked diligently for several days without any result,
until M. Longuet began to lose spirit. M. Lecamus was more patient.
One evening as they were walking towards the Rond Point, in the Champs
Elysees, he turned around and said, “What can we do to find the
approximate place where the treasures are buried if you have not your
black plume?” Théophraste and Marceline could not understand this,
and asked for an explanation. He commented:
“You have heard of the water witches who could discover water by the
aid of a wand, by a phenomenon which nobody has as yet been able to
explain. These witches traced water across the various beds of earth,
and by pointing the little rods, indicated where it was necessary to dig
in order to make a well. I do not despair of showing you, Théophraste,
where your treasures are buried. I will conduct you over the ground
shown in the document, and tell you where it is that you must dig to
find your treasure.”
“Yes,” interrupted Théophraste, “but this does not explain to us
what you mean by ‘the black plume.’”
“I am coming to that now. I am obliged to speak of Darwin. You will
understand directly. You know that Darwin devoted himself to several
celebrated experiments, of which the best known is that with pigeons.
“Desirous of accounting for the phenomenon of heredity and the value
that he attached to it, he closely studied the breeding of pigeons,
which is sufficiently rapid to have enabled him to draw conclusions upon
an appreciable number of generations. At the end of the tenth generation
he found the same type of pigeon, with the same defects, the same
qualities, the same form, the same outline, and the same black plume
there in the same place where the first pigeon had a black feather. Very
well! With that I will prove to you that it is the same with souls as it
is with bodies.
“At the end of the tenth generation, we find the same soul, as far
as it exists, with the same defects, the same virtues, and, as it were,
with the original black feather. While giving you this illustration,
it is necessary to distinguish between the soul which reappears thus
hereditarily, and that which comes back by reincarnation. Believing that
it is the result of a unique combination which nothing can oppose,
and, since it dwells in a case called a body, is hereditary in the same
degree as that body, an hereditary soul which comes from an ancestor
always has his black feather, while a soul which comes back by
reincarnation finds itself in a body which is in no way prepared to
receive it. The aggregate materials of this body are original, and
decaying, momentarily impose a silence on that soul.
“But a time comes when this soul becomes the strongest, when it
speaks, when it shows itself entirely, just as the black feather does.
“Now, Théophraste, for several generations you were the honest
gardeners in the Ferte-sous-Jonarre. But when that soul speaks in you,
you are no longer yourself. Théophraste Longuet has disappeared. It is
the Other who is there. It is the Other who has the gesture, the manner,
the action, the black feather. It is the other who recalls the mystery
of the treasure, it is the Other who remembers the Other.”
“Oh! This is admirable!” exclaimed Théophraste, who was so deeply
moved that he could hardly refrain from weeping with excitement. “And
now I understand what you mean by my black feather. My black feather
returns to me when I am the Other.”
“And he will help you then, my friend,” declared Adolphe with
conviction. “But until we have released the unknown who is hidden
in Théophraste Longuet, and until he lives with sufficient strength,
audacity, and liberty, until he is resuscitated, in a word, until he
appears to us with his ‘black feather,’ we will confine ourselves
to the study of that interesting document which you brought from the
Conciergerie. Let us make a plan for penetrating the mystery. We will
find out exactly where the treasures are buried, but we must wait for
the spirit who dwells in you to say to us, ‘It is there.’”
“My friend,” said Marceline, overflowing with admiration, “you
talk like a book, and I wonder that you have not more often tried to
teach us these things, for we are so ignorant. You must not leave a
stone unturned to find the treasure. I do not fear the destruction of
the earth on account of the object of our search.”
Adolphe turned around to reprove Marceline for her flippancy, but at
this moment M. Milfroid, the Commissioner of Police, approached, and
Adolphe rose to greet his friend.
Adolphe introduced M. Milfroid to M. and Mme. Longuet. He was a man
of about forty years of age, elegantly dressed, immaculate gloves, a
silvery ringlet of hair on the white forehead. He advanced, smiling and
bowing.
“We have often heard our friend M. Adolphe speak of you,” said
Marceline. “Your fame has gone before you.”
“Oh, madame, I have known you for a long time. Every time I meet M.
Lecamus he speaks to me of his friends of the Rue Gerauds, and in such
terms that it has been my greatest desire to have the happiness of being
presented to you.”
Marceline was conquered by such gallant manners. “I hear that you play
the violin very well,” she said.
“I am equally interested in philosophy,” said M. Milfroid. “An
interest which I owe to M. Adolphe, who is continually in dispute with
me over the immortality of the soul, and other psychic matters. He has
really made a convert of me.”
“Monsieur,” said Théophraste, who had not yet taken part in the
conversation, “Adolphe and I like to converse about serious matters,
also. We were just speaking of the relations between the soul and the
body, and the different ways that the soul has of behaving with the
body.”
“Ah!” said M. Milfroid, who desired to shine before Marceline,
“are you able to distinguish between matter and mind, or the material
and the spiritual? Matter and mind are the same thing in the eyes of
science. That is to say, they constitute alike one unit, one force,
produce at one time the phenomenon of cause and effect, tending to
one end, the progressive steps of existence. You are the only ones,
gentlemen, to still make that old distinction between matter and
mind.”
After a while they rose and returned through the Place de la Concorde.
At the entrance to the Rue Royale, there was a crowd of people, shouting
and gesticulating. Théophraste, an old Parisian, wanted to know what
was taking place, and flung himself into the crowd.
“Look out for pickpockets,” Marceline called to him.
“Oh, madame,” said Monsieur Milfroid, the Commissioner of Police,
“there are no pickpockets when I am about.”
“It is true. We should be in no danger when you are here.”
“I do not know about that,” said Adolphe, looking about them. “My
friend here appears more dangerous to me than all the pickpockets on
earth.” At this they all laughed.
Théophraste made them wait ten minutes before he appeared, and then he
announced that it was a coachman who had gotten his wheels locked with
an automobile, and could not separate them.
Marceline felt annoyed at having been kept waiting so long on such a
slight pretext. However, her thoughts were diverted in doing the honors
of a hostess, and she invited M. Milfroid to dinner.
During the dinner many pleasantries were passed, and M. Milfroid
excelled in complimenting Marceline.
Suddenly, he became uneasy, and plunging his hands in his pockets,
looked vainly for his handkerchief. After a final and useless search, he
passed his forefinger under his moustache, and sighed, declaring that it
did not matter.
However, at that moment Théophraste wiped his mouth, and Marceline
asked him where he had found such a beautiful handkerchief. M. Mil-froid
at once recognized it as his own, and thinking it just a piece of
pleasantry, took the handkerchief from Théophraste. However, feeling in
his left side, he became pale and exclaimed, “Good God! I have lost my
pocketbook. There were five hundred francs in it.” M. Milfroid did not
regret losing the five hundred francs, but he found himself ridiculed by
Adolphe, and Marceline teased him gently and laughed prettily. They were
all poking fun at him, and this made him furious.
“M. Milfroid,” said Théophraste, “if you need any money for the
evening I can lend it to you,” and he drew a wallet from his pocket.
M. Milfroid uttered a cry: it was his! M. Milfroid took the wallet from
him as he had done the handkerchief, and alleging numerous engagements,
he took his leave. Before going down the stairs, he said to his friend
Adolphe, who followed him, “These are nice kind of people you have
introduced me to.”
When Adolphe returned to the dining-room, Théophraste was emptying
his pockets. On the table there lay three watches, six handkerchiefs,
several pocketbooks, containing large sums of money, and eighteen
checks.